


The Principle Business of Life

by Ladycat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheppard’s head tilted back thoughtfully. “So I see you two have bonded.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Principle Business of Life

“You can’t possibly—this is _inhuman_ ,” and if Rodney wasn’t actually screeching, he was close enough for horseshoes. “It’s _cruel and unusual_ and I demand to be let out right this instant!”

Keller did her best not to smile. “I’m sorry, Rodney, but you know the quarantine procedures. Actually, you helped set up those procedures, if I recall correctly.”

“Oh, yes, bring that up now,” Rodney said, morosely looking down at the curled up ball of fluff, deceptively still and even mostly quiet, which only proved that it was a lying demonic creature from _hell_. He contemplated kicking it. Except that would wake it up and—no. God, no. “I only _helped_ write them, since I am not a trained practitioner of turning in a circle three times while chanting something arcane—”

“That was for the harvest festival and you did it too!”

“— _but_ if you are going to lay these asinine requirements at my feet, then I’m going to change them.” He tapped the glass hard enough to leave smudge-prints. “Let’s go, call them up, I am rewriting them right now.”

Unfortunately, as fate worked in mysterious and karma-linked ways, Rodney’s ‘now’ coincided with a spate of coughing that left him light-headed and reeling, slumped against the door because his knees weren’t doing their proper job. When his eyes focused enough, he was treated to the sight of Keller, face pressed so tightly to the glass that she looked like a little kid, too anxious to wait for windows or doors to be opened. Only little kids didn’t look quite that concerned.

“Are you using the breathing treatment?” she demanded.

Rodney waved weakly. “Yes, because I’m known for ignoring risks to my health.”

“I’ll suit up again if I have to, Rodney, and you know you won’t like that one bit. I’ll use the big needles.”

Rodney launched into another coughing jag in retaliation, although this one thankfully didn’t feel quite like a rake running up and down the sensitive tissue of his throat. “I’m using the—oh, now what!”

Something cool and a little wet pushed into his dangling hand, button-black eyes surrounded by fuzzy almost-white fur, peering up curiously as the small alien animal that absolutely didn’t look _at all_ like a Labrador puppy whined with quiet concern.

“Go away,” Rodney told it. “Go away right now.”

The puppy’s tail wagged, glad to be the focus of someone’s attention even if it was too stupid to tell a good tone of voice from bad, and pushed a little more firmly. When that didn’t illicit an appropriate response, it yipped. _Shrilly_.

“Ow, ow, ear drums, I need my ear drums!” Rodney glared, managing not to yank his hand away, lip curled, when the puppy started to eagerly chew on his fingers. It didn’t hurt, precisely, and it was something to alleviate the crushing boredom of being stuck in a single room with a laptop that wasn’t networked—like his virus was in _binary_ —and a small not-puppy that wouldn’t leave his side.

“I hate you,” he told the puppy. It barked at him, slightly less shrill than before, and panted with its jaw dropped down, the (apparently) universal puppy sign of grinning affection.

* * *

Honestly, it wasn’t that unusual. They were the Lief Eiríksson's of the Pegasus galaxy and lacking precious in-born immunities so if anything, they were lucky it happened so infrequently: every few planets or so, someone would come down with _something_. It manifested as a cold, most often, and Carson had spent his first year feverishly coming up with the Pegasus equivalent of antibiotics, so it became almost depressingly routine. Take a few of these, sleep for eight hours, call him in the morning. There was always the roulette wheel of unpleasant side effects—Rodney’s favorite was still the pink spots Teyla and Ronon had sported for a week—but familiarity did its breeding business and contempt could make anything blasé.

Sometimes, though, it wasn’t just a cold. Nothing had been as bad as the amnesia-fever from a few weeks back—and thankfully not as widespread—but Rodney was definitely nominating this as the closest runner-up for the next Atlantis Awards: a deep, hacking cough full of wet mucus that made him sound like a malaria victim, plus an assortment of aches, pains, a headache that made him want to saw the top of his skull off just to relieve the pressure, and oh yes, he couldn’t forget the way his balance was shot to hell.

He couldn’t forget it because it’d been caught on _video_ , and given his luck, it was going to be the new dance craze: list and stumble, list and stumble, fall. Fantastic

“I’m not certain it’s not contagious,” Keller had told them all uncertainly, while Rodney hunched in, head down so he wouldn’t have to see everyone casually back up a few steps. “It _probably_ isn’t, but given the way he’s coughing, I’m not sure I want to take any chances. One epidemic is enough for me.”

Carter had sighed, nodding. “Agreed. Sorry, Rodney,” she said, not sorry at all, the lying witch, because it was her orders that he be left with a laptop full of games and movies, stripped of its network card by Zelenka himself. “Think of it as a vacation?”

“Oh yes,” he griped at the memory, staring at the curving ceiling above his head. Boring. There weren’t even any tiles or imperfections to count. “This is a fantastic vacation.”

Rodney could remember with exact detail the last time he took an actual vacation. He was fifteen, at some National Park in the United States where it was hot, full of bugs that flew directly in his face, stinging and biting, as well as sand that migrated into fantastically uncomfortable places. The combination had given him a rash on his skin and _in his brain_ , but the real problem was the vacation happened to coincide with the final death-knell of his parents’ marriage. When he wasn’t physically miserable, he was busy avoiding his parents—whose whispered arguments could’ve chilled the entire state if he’d just figured out how to convert bitter hate into ice—and being annoyed by Jeanie, who had stoically tried to still have fun before even she couldn’t pretend anymore and dissolved into tears that had lasted nearly an entire month.

Oddly, Rodney hadn’t wanted to go on any vacations after that.

A quietly huffed sigh brought him back to reality. “Yes, yes, we’re both bored,” Rodney said, absently stroking his fingers over fur that felt silky soft, warm and entirely too fragile bones giving him curves to follow. “It’s our curse in life.”

The laptop on the bed provided explosions of some-sort, blooming yellow and smoky grey, a macabre, silent dance. He’d turned the sound off twenty minutes ago, unable to hear with his persistent coughing and anyway, he probably knew the whole thing by heart. If he could just remember what the hell he was watching. 

The alien-not-puppy whined at him, nosing into his fingers before abruptly lifting its head, staring at the door with grim intensity before barking sharply, once, twice, three times.

A half-second later, someone knocked at the door.

“Huh,” Rodney said. “At least you’re useful.” Clambering to his feet, Rodney went to the pressure-sealed door that was his only access to the outside world. The airlock beside it whirred before yawning open to reveal, “Oh, hey, meatloaf!”

“Thought you might like that,” a muffled voice came over the intercom.

Huh. That was surprising. “Sheppard. Uh. Thanks?”

The small glass cut out didn’t allow a great deal of visibility, but Sheppard had angled himself so the nonchalant shrug came across clearly. Then again, Rodney didn’t really need to see it to know it was happening, the Sheppardian version of a tree falling in his own lackadaisical forest.

“Rodney. Hey, Rodney!”

He blinked, forcing his eyes to focus. Stupid coughing. “Yes, _what?”_

“You went kinda pale,” Sheppard said, “and I’m pretty sure the mutt isn’t big enough to catch you.”

Rodney counted to ten, slowly, in English, Ancient, and then binary. “Right,” he said tightly. “Of course. Look, just give me whatever new toys you’ve come up with and I’ll make sure to give you a detailed report on its likes and dislikes.”

“Actually, we’re pretty sure it’s a she,” Sheppard said. “And we don’t need a detailed report, just let me know what works and what doesn’t. Is she still making that wheezing sound when she breathes?”

No questions about _his_ health, of course. Just the not-dog’s. It wasn’t surprising, not really, since Sheppard was _still_ pouting over the not-dog—probably the reason for Rodney’s incarceration—had decided it liked Rodney best, managing a flying leap through the ’gate right before it closed on its fuzzy heels—hocks? No, those were horses, so paws—refusing to leave his side despite several attempts to separate them.

Several _half-hearted_ attempts, since sharp not-puppy teeth aside—watching Ronon nurse his bitten hand had been hilarious—the thing was roughly the size of a shoebox. If they’d really wanted to rescue Rodney from this compacted hell, they could’ve. They were just too busy thinking it was _cute._

“Aw, hey,” Sheppard crooned suddenly, leaning closer so his nose squashed very unattractively against the glass. Like it wasn’t big enough already. “Hey, there, girl, you comin’ to see me?”

The high-pitched, sputtering growl sounded more like a purr, but the not-dog valiantly tried to insinuate itself between Rodney and Sheppard’s flattened face, teeth exposed, weight on its fore-paws growling as fiercely as a not-puppy could in Rodney’s defense.

It was weirdly flattering, although that didn’t prevent Rodney from seeing the irony: the creature Sheppard was _actually_ worried about didn’t care about him, while Rodney—well. Rodney wasn’t thinking of that. He had enough things to be miserable over.

“You know,” he said, after another coughing-jag that left him even hoarser, “hissing really is more effective. Even _kittens_ can hiss better than this thing can growl.”

“She’s still a puppy,” Sheppard defended her. He looked a little sad, though, which only served him right. Despite making Rodney’s chest feel even tighter. “I think maybe she thinks you’re her mother.”

“Oh, now, that’s completely uncalled for!” Rodney shouted. “Bad enough every snot-nosed brat we come across does the same thing, but you had to go and say it about a _non-sentient_ creature. That’s just great. Now everyone’s going to think it’s okay to say things like that to my _face_ , instead of behind my back like civilized adults!”

And dammit, of course, any kind of heated emotion led to coughing and coughing and _coughing._. This was a particularly bad one, Rodney’s skin tacky with heat as he doubled over, clutching the door as he lost even more control, entire body focused on the way his lungs fluttered and caught, the itchy ache in his throat. 

He hated this, _hated_ not being able to breathe because it wasn’t like a rash you could apply ointment to and perhaps ignore, if it wasn’t too bad. This wasn’t something that allowed you to swallow pain-easing pills, because you _couldn’t_ swallow and you couldn’t _think_ because if the body didn’t have oxygen, then it didn’t have anything at all, and it hurt, _Jesus_ , like his whole body was being beaten up from the inside out, bruises probably blooming in blue-tinged glory all over his chest, tears streaming down his cheeks as he coughed and hacked and coughed even more...

Anxious whining eventually penetrated the haze of _please stop, please please, let me stop_ , a warm, furry body pressed tightly again his hands, cooler, harder points of pressure on his forearms while something wet and rough and smelling pretty damned bad licked all over his face. “Stop it,” Rodney demanded roughly. His breath caught for a moment, but the spasm eased and he didn’t cough again. “No, stop it, stop it right now!”

If he had the strength to push the not-dog away—but he didn’t, so instead he pushed himself up against the wall, high enough that it couldn’t jump up and reach him. The not-puppy really didn’t like that, sneezing angrily before deciding on an acceptable substitute: chewing on his already-ruined sweat-pants, its small body warm and strangely reassuring as it chewed and whined, still anxious, yipping occasionally when Rodney didn’t pay enough attention.

“I’m fine,” Rodney muttered, rubbing away the sweat from his forehead with one hand while the other fondled silky, tufted ears. “Really, I’m fine, stop it.”

Rodney was aware that Sheppard was still shouting through the comm. unit, so he reached up and slapped it off. He knew he was okay, or at least mostly okay. There were plenty of monitors studded all around the room so if it was really bad, Keller would be there, or the nurse who kept telling him to call her Moira. They didn’t come, though.

Eventually, the not-dog gave up on worrying his pants and stretched up as far as it would go, gripping his shirt with tiny teeth, tugging. It growled, low and pointedly, until Rodney pushed at it. The not-dog pushed back. “What,” he asked it, grumpily. “I’m tired, and I hurt,” all over, everything throbbing faintly, “and I just want to—okay, yes, fine, you didn’t have to get _skin.”_

It was ludicrous, insane, but once Rodney clambered to his feet, the not-dog shifted its hold to Rodney’s pants, tugging like a fuzzy, tail-wagging rudder, guiding Rodney to the bed. Once there, he collapsed and had to belly-worm his way up to the top, panting as shallowly as he could so not to spark another round of coughing. 

The not-dog nosed him anxiously, using the cold and wetness effectively until Rodney pulled his arms in and actually got comfortable. Well, relatively. Barking quietly in satisfaction, the not-dog turned in a quick circle three times—oh, the irony—before settling into a tight ball, dark eyes warm and steady.

“I’m _fine_. I’m also protesting this to a dog. An alien dog that can’t understand me and,” and for a second, tears burned hot and tight at the corners of his eyes. “I hate this,” Rodney whispered to the room. “I hate it so much.”

The not-dog whined and squinched itself a little closer, sighing as Rodney began to pet it, running his hand over a body that arched into his touch, soft and warm and thrumming with life.

* * *

They’d met the bigger version first. A crash from the underbrush to their right had all of them whirling around, even Rodney’s hand tensed expectantly over his gun. The uninhabited planets were often more disturbing, since humans were reliably untrustworthy, and there was at least the _potential_ of arguing your way free.

Arguing with a man-sized venus flytrap—oh, P3X-576, so blissfully locked out of the computer—was just out of the question, after all.

“Did you see that?” Sheppard had asked, eyes darting around.

Ronon had nodded. “Went that way.”

The trees were dense, darkly colored in unfamiliar chocolate browns and dusky, brittle grays. It reminded Rodney of his one trip to the United Kingdom, oddly, a feeling he hadn’t been able to understand until they’d burst through the forest into a sea of what had to be heather: a rippling, waving mass of grey-purple stalks, tall enough and thick enough to hide a whole herd of elephants.

In fact, it wasn’t an elephant. It was an animal that had growled with a Maserati’s basso menace, the sound vibrating up Rodney’s boots to make the hair on the back of his neck lift, safely hidden in the possibly-but-maybe-not-actually heather. Only two gleaming eyes had been visible, a malevolent glare promising pain and death to whoever was stupid enough to approach.

Of course, the rest of his insane team _had_ approached, while Rodney had spluttered dire predictions where he’d been rooted to the ground.

“John, does this creature not look similar to the pictures you showed me?” Teyla hadn’t lowered her weapon, edging closer to Sheppard without taking her eyes off the creature. “I believed you called it a ... pet?”

“A dog,” Sheppard had replied, absently, already lowering onto his knees so he could inch closer. A muzzle cautiously poked through, fortunately the kind that contained whiskers and teeth, not bullets. “Hey, hey, boy. Hey, it’s okay, we’re friendly.”

“Sheppard, we’re in another _galaxy_. Your ability to charm alien priestesses at ten paces probably does _not_ apply to creatures that may or may not be domesticated—and I’m leaning towards not since this is an _uninhabited planet_ —and oh, oh, no, it’s going to bite you and you’re going to get Pegasus _rabies_!”

It hadn’t bitten. It had stayed wary and aloof until something not quite yellow, but not quite white, and wriggling like a snake had spilled out from its chest-high protection, yipping eagerly as it tried to sniff and lick the humans. To Rodney’s complete disgust, Sheppard was, predictably, completely charmed. “They’re only puppies, Rodney, come off it. Look, he’s trying to play with me!”

Sheppard had just managed to get his hands around the belly of a second puppy, as dark as the adult that was presumably its mother, when a familiar whine had distracted them.

The planet wasn’t uninhabited. Or rather, it _hadn’t_ been uninhabited before the Wraith came. “Refueling,” Sheppard had said, grimly, eyes on Teyla, her face dark and sad as she drifted through the houses they found.

Clearly the not-dogs had been domesticated—although Rodney had still worried about rabies—the mother following at a discreet, wary distance while the team combed through the wreckage, hoping for any signs of life. None, of course. Scorched-earth was a bitterly effective tactic, after all, whether it was on one planet or many. 

Rodney’s memories started fading around then, grown hazy and soft around the edges like a tv show trying to show a flashback. He was getting sick, he knew that now, but it didn’t help fill in the spotty gaps of when the only yellow-white not-puppy had started following him around, and why it had been so very eager that it had raced as fast as its floppy paws could manage, almost _howling_ as it dived after him through the ’gate.

“Why couldn’t you have glued yourself to Sheppard, hm?” Rodney demanded of the sleepy animal, sprawled warmly over his lap. “He wanted you.”

Too much, really. Everyone had seen his bitter disappointment when the not-puppy had wriggled its way out of Sheppard's hands, scrambling towards Rodney, leaping and practically dancing to the tune of its own yipping barks as Rodney started his first bout of deep, hacking coughs.

“I’m a cat person!” he told it. “I don’t like dogs! They’re all... eager and need walks and—and—”

“—and bark,” Sheppard finished. “You really couldn’t even think of _that_ complaint?”

Rodney blinked. Sheppard’s voice didn’t sound muffled and crackly like it was coming over a radio, and while it was possible he was hallucinating again, he really thought he’d hallucinate, say, Carter again instead of Sheppard, clean-shaven and beaming as he sat at the foot of Rodney’s bed.

“Huh?”

“Ready to escape from the joint? Keller’s satisfied you’re not contagious, just sick and pretty miserable. She told me to get you out of her hair, already.” An eyebrow winged up. “Were you shouting at her again? You know she gets tetchy when you do.”

“I don’t shout at her!” Much, anyway. “She’s just very annoying with her incessant _questions_!”

Sheppard rolled his eyes. “Right, since ‘does this medicine make you feel better?’ is such an annoying thing to ask.” 

He reached for the not-dog, hands stuttering to an uncomfortable stop when Rodney quickly wrapped an arm around it, lifting it up so he could bury his face in its fur. It smelled warm and a little musty, but familiar and… and reassuring, too. It made Rodney’s throat feel tight, but not like he was about to cough. 

He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want Sheppard to have the not-dog. It didn’t make any sense, except his stomach twisted at the very thought of it, and watching Sheppard reach out explicitly for the not-dog had been—not good.

Sheppard’s head tilted back thoughtfully. “So I see you two have bonded.”

Well, _that_ was patently ridiculous. Rodney was just cold, that was all, and the not-dog was sleeping; Sheppard would wake it up trying to play. “Please, what part of cat person is so hard to understand?” he demanded, muffled.

“Maybe the part where you’re hugging a _dog_?”

“It’s not a dog, we have no way of knowing—” He caught Sheppard’s eyebrow flick and slumped. “Keller ran tests, didn’t she?”

“Yup. It’s about as different from a normal Labrador as Teyla and Ronon are to us, which means that you have to stop calling it a not-dog.” Sheppard grinned, delighted, when Rodney’s head popped up, mouth open in surprise. “Ha! I thought that’s what you’d be calling her.”

Grumbling, Rodney carefully shifted the still-sleeping puppy into the crook of his arm and began the slow, careful process of maintaining his balance while trying to stand up. His head felt roughly the size of a puddlejumper, and it sloshed alarmingly if he moved too fast—a new symptom he loathed more than his lack of balance—wary of knees that had proven not up to the task of supporting him. 

He’d only just cleared his butt off the bed when a warm hand cupped his elbow.

“It hasn’t been forty eight hours,” Rodney grumbled, trying not to lean too heavily into Sheppard’s hand.

“You’re not contagious, just sick. Keller says it’s a miracle you aren’t sniffling and sneezing.”

“Oh, great, now that you _said_ it—”

“It’s not gonna happen,” Sheppard interrupted patiently. He kept pace with Rodney’s slow crawl easily, expression clear as they moved past the air-locked door and into the infirmary proper. “I checked before I said anything, McKay, relax. You know I would’ve.”

“Fine, yes, you would’ve.” A twitch from the puppy on his shoulder made him start, wavering alarmingly, while Sheppard grabbed at his waist to anchor him.

“Whoa, there, girl, easy,” he said, and pulled both Rodney _and_ the puppy closer to him. “No chasing rabbits or whatever it you dream about, not until we’ve trimmed your claws a little, okay?”

Given those claws were balanced lightly against Rodney’s stomach, he agreed whole-heartedly. Sepsis wasn’t something he wanted to deal with, thanks. Shaking his shoulder, Rodney cupped the puppy’s rump and pushed lightly. “Wake up. Yes, I am talking to you, wake up.” His voice wasn’t very loud, but between the tone and the jostling the puppy was blinking blearily by the time Sheppard placed her on the infirmary floor.

“Better, girl?” Sheppard asked. The puppy slipped a little as she regained her own weight, shaking her head so hard her ears flopped backwards—which was in _no way_ cute—exposing the shiny pink skin underneath. “Don’t growl,” Sheppard warned when she looked at them curiously. “I’m just helping him back to your room, that’s all.”

Barking like she understood, the puppy trotted over towards the door and sat down, fuzzy and small, a little rolly from puppy-fat she’d grow into, a Hallmark greeting card come to life.

“Oh, that’s just not fair,” Rodney grumbled. He prided himself as being a stubborn man, and it was only _cats_ who affected him like this. Aloof, disdainful _cats_. Not dogs. “I hate you,” he told the puppy.

She barked in return, tail wagging despite her seated position.

They made quite the processional through the hallways. The curiously _deserted_ hallways, Sheppard doing his silent equivalent of ‘lalala’ when Rodney made a comment. It was a nice touch, though, since the puppy could skitter and slide her way down the hallway before bounding back, loud and curious without any people to distract her. Also because Rodney started to wheeze half-way there, going slower and slower as his body ran out of what little steam he’d built up. He kept his eyes focused on the ground in front of him. Just because it _looked_ smooth didn’t meant there weren’t unexpected bumps or divots just waiting for him, and his feet weren’t the most coordinated they’d ever been.

“Almost there,” Sheppard said quietly.

“I don’t really think she needs the reassurance!”

Muttering something too quiet for Rodney to hear over his own heartbeat, far too loud in stuffed ears, Sheppard said, “Still, we’re almost there.”

Once inside his quarters, Rodney gratefully collapsed onto a bed that had been recently made up with fresh, clean sheets that felt fantastic against his clammy skin. The pillow smelled faintly of Teyla’s incense, sweet without being cloying, equally cool and soothing against his cheek. The puppy immediately jumped up onto the bed after him, doing her familiar circling before settling right next to his chest.

“You’re a lot heavier than she is,” Rodney murmured when the mattress dipped, Sheppard sitting next to them. With Rodney settled, he was finally allowed to pet the puppy, fingers grazing against Rodney’s chest as much as her curled up back. Strange, but she was so close that Rodney covered part of her body when he breathed, so maybe not. It felt nice, too. Nice like his bed, firm and comfortable and familiar and soothing.

“You gotta take these pills,” Sheppard said after a few moments. “Keller says they’ll help you sleep more.”

“Mm. Pills?”

“Chewable, since your throat’s so sore. I talked to Carter about the dog. She’s not thrilled about keeping it, but since it’s pretty fixated on you and Biro—did you know she did vet work?—thinks the mother won’t accept it now, she can’t really say no. Don’t worry about feeding it and stuff, yet, we’ll still take care of that until you’re better.” Sheppard had weirdly long fingers, surprisingly slender for all they were thick at the tip, and very warm as they petted his chest and the puppy equally. “You think of a name yet?”

“Thought that was your job,” Rodney slurred, snuggling in deeper. Something gritty that tasted awful, like chalk liberally laced with salt, was put in his mouth, but he chewed obediently when told to. “The whole naming thing. Y’get mad when we try to usurp th’ right.”

“Only you could say ‘usurp’ when sick and half-asleep,” Sheppard chuckled. “We’ll name her later, then.” Sheppard was petting his cheek now, but that felt good too, and sleep was soft and filled with an anxious whine that Rodney had gotten used to, covering him like the blanket pulled up to his shoulders.

* * *

“Ah, Rodney, have you thought of a name yet?”

“No, and stop asking,” Rodney said, scowling. He still had to walk carefully and not just because the puppy had developed a bad habit of darting between his feet, winding almost as badly as a cat would’ve.

Zelenka just beamed at him, undeterred, and helped set up the pillow Rodney carried around with him constantly, now. It was a process Rodney had had to repeat for the past two days and by now there were half a dozen willing helpers. Rodney still did most of it himself, carefully positioning the pillow so it was visible by most of the lab. 

Sheppard loved to tease him that it was definitely Rodney’s puppy, because she had a few very stringent requirements. She had to be able to see the whole room, and Rodney in particular, otherwise she’d bark and yip and jump until Rodney was afraid she was going to snap her spine with her gravity-defying twists, as well as make him deaf.

This time, though she tumbled onto her throne with a pleased bark, twisting and turning as she surveyed her newest demesne before thumping her fuzzy butt down, tail wagging as she panted at Rodney.

It was like having a body guard. No, no, it was more like having a _sister_ again, although fortunately, one too young to talk. Rodney could count his blessings to incredibly high numbers, and the past several days had given him good practice.

If one more person went _aww_ over Rodney and his new pet...

Fortunately, Rodney’s tirades had already made it to the labs. There were a few longing looks and hands dropped low enough for even one-foot-high puppies to sniff, but Rodney’s new companion had already settled in, and she wasn’t moving again until she was hungry or had to go to the balcony

Rodney had a new and blissful appreciation for the balcony and—though he’d never admit it—for Sheppard, who had told him about it.

“We have rearranged for you,” Zelenka explained when he gently pushed Rodney down a clearer, wider path to his desk. “Actually, it was mostly Sheppard who did so. He seems quite put-out that it is you who is newest Pied Piper and not him.”

If rolling his eyes didn’t hurt so much, he would’ve. “The Pied Piper attracted children, not sort of Labradors, and Sheppard’s been everywhere lately,” he grumbled. How was a pertinent question, since it seemed like every time Rodney turned around, Sheppard had been there, or _was_ there, smoothing Rodney’s way. He was down right solicitous about Rodney’s lingering cold, taking care of the messier aspects of the puppy to the point of romping with her like an over-grown puppy himself, and generally just neglecting his own very busy schedule to mess up Rodney’s.

“Well, anywhere you are, or will be, yes.”

Rodney slumped, letting his aching head settle into his palms. “Great,” he said, and it was, really. It was good in a way Rodney couldn’t appropriately quantify, and didn’t bother trying, most of the time—since it wasn’t him Sheppard was really there to see. “So, because I’m not allowed to have any dignity, ever, I’m sure he told you all about—”

“Your balance, yes, he did. He also mentioned the only way to keep you in your quarters was to set guard, which he cannot since they, and he, are busy with whatever it is the military does when they are not out on missions, so I am to become your new babysitter.”

He’d thought his grand return to the labs had been too easy. 

“You’re quoting me why, exactly?”

“It makes you turn funny colors, like now,” Zelenka grinned. “Here. I’ve locked you out of key systems, but all your pet projects are available and hopefully, you shall not cause any trouble.”

It was patronizing. It was _annoying_ , but Rodney was so grateful to not be in his own room, watching yet another stupid movie he didn’t care about, that he’d let it slide. Waving Zelenka off, Rodney booted up the computer and began exploring. The locks Zelenka had written weren’t exactly tough to break, if he really wanted to, but given the way his head still throbbed, Rodney was happy to lose himself in the cloak/shield dilemma and how to run both simultaneously. It wasn’t just a question of having enough power, although that was a serious issue, but he was gradually making inroads into creating his own array, and if they could get the coding to stop conflicting with each other...

“Hey, McKay. You feel like getting lunch?” Sheppard’s voice rang out of nowhere.

Rodney started, earning a yip of displeasure when his hand tightened too much around a scruffy back. Blinking, Rodney took in Sheppard—leaning on the edge of his desk, smiling fondly as he let his fingers be licked—then the puppy, who had somehow migrated up to his lap, stretched out between them. “Um?”

“I’ve got a new kind of puppy-chow,” he offers, eyebrows so far up they made him look half-stunned and all dork.

Rodney refused to be charmed. It wasn’t him Sheppard was trying to charm, he had to remember that. “Yes, because I’m going to eat ground-up not-meat.”

Laughing, Sheppard helped himself to the puppy—who whined but allowed herself to be settled in the crook of his arm—before hovering annoyingly as he watched Rodney ease onto his feet.

“I’m fine,” Rodney snarled.

“Nah, you aren’t. And since I asked for meatloaf again for lunch, I’m pretty sure you _are_ eating the same thing she is.” Walking with his hand underneath Rodney’s elbow wasn’t an uncommon sight any longer, so no one bothered looking at them for more than a second or two as they ambled through the hallways, forced to walk slowly since Rodney hadn’t yet recovered his ground-devouring stride.

Halfway there, the puppy started wiggling. Rodney sighed and grumbled, but Sheppard just laughed and steered them towards the nearest balcony. “I still don’t know how you did it,” Rodney complained, watching as the puppy sniffed at a patch of ground that had turned soft and squishy whenever she passed over it.

Sheppard shrugged. He was leaning against the railing, face tipped up to enjoy the sea breeze. This world was cooler than Lantea, the salt-content heavier and oddly, Rodney found he was enjoying that more. Then again, he’d never been someone who traveled to the Mediterranean, so maybe it wasn’t all that odd after all. It felt more like his few visits to Vancouver, complete with a sky that held more clouds than blue.

“I just asked her really nicely,” Sheppard explained, again. The puppy, meanwhile, had done her business and the squishy material was turning clumpy and a little sandy. Sheppard dug out one of the clear bags he seemed to carry constantly now, scooping it up and tossing it out towards the ocean. “And I talked a lot about kitty litter.”

“I thought you were a dog person.”

Sheppard shifted, making room so Rodney could lean next to him. “Nah. I mean, I like dogs and it’s nice when they like me,” he said, smiling down at the puppy who was sniffing happily at their boots. “But I think I like cat people best.”

Rodney blinked. His mouth was half-open with a retort already there, but he snapped it shut after a few seconds. There was no way that—it didn’t make any _sense_ because he knew for a fact Sheppard didn’t like cats, he’d said so plenty of times before and yes, okay, he could be yanking Rodney’s chain but— “What?” he asked eventually. “What are you talking about?”

Scrubbing the back of his neck in a move that always made him seem shy, Sheppard looked out towards the rest of the city, framed by blue-grey waves. “I like cat-people,” he said earnestly, like that explained anything at all. Then, “Um. You gonna say something?”

Rodney studied Sheppard’s profile, the hint of pink right at the tips of his weirdly pointed ears, the way his jaw worked the longer the silence stretched out, his face almost _too_ blank. He had to be misunderstanding, so after a second of groping for something to say, he offered, “I think I want to name her Theano?”

“That’s… a complicated name for a dog, don’t you think?”

This, this was better, more comfortably familiar. “And what, you’d call her ‘Spot’?” Rodney snorted. “Or, oh, how about Lassie!” There were plenty of other names, but Sheppard was looking at him, head tilted assessingly and Rodney found his mouth going dry.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Sheppard said with a drawling note of patience. “I just don’t really like Theano.”

Rodney swallowed once, then once more. His throat felt tight again, but he didn’t think this was a herald of more coughing. “So, ah, what would you call her?”

“I dunno yet. She hasn’t let us know.” Sheppard glanced down, mouth easing into a grin as he watched the puppy leap at both of them, wanting to be picked up. It was the action of a child more than a dog, but she didn’t seem to care about that, half-climbing up as much as a dog could, eager to survey the world from his or Rodney’s arms.

“I kinda like dog-people,” Rodney blurted suddenly.

“Only kinda?” Sheppard scooped up the puppy, laughing as his face was immediately licked. He used his chin to push her away, and then adopted an expression that was almost exactly as pouty as the puppy’s.

“If you open your mouth and pant at me, I’m going to be disgusted,” Rodney warned.

“What if I opened my mouth and did something else?”

“Well. I guess it would depend on what that something—” Sheppard’s mouth was warm and surprisingly sweet as he carefully leaned around the puppy squashed between them. “—is. Um. That’s a good something.”

“Yeah?” 

“Can I ask—” Rodney stopped, not even sure he wanted the answer. Sheppard was kissing him and looking at him with a smile crinkling the corner of his eyes, the way it did only when he meant it. But he had to know. “This isn’t just because I’ve got a dog now, right? Because you’ve been hovering twice as much since I found her.”

Sheppard laughed and leaned forward, sharing his chuckles so they vibrated against Rodney’s tongue. “Maybe,” he teased, easing an arm around Rodney’s waist, holding them both. He bumped his nose against Rodney’s, a warm kiss gracing the corner of his mouth. “Mostly it was the way she followed you around,” he murmured. “Do you know what it’s like to be jealous of a _puppy?”_

Rodney thought about the way Sheppard had pressed himself against the glass of his quarantine door, focused on the puppy at Rodney’s feet. The hot burn when he realized Sheppard couldn’t even meet his eyes. “Oddly enough, yes.”

They looked at each other for a moment. “I vote we never talk about that again,” Sheppard said, breathy and fast.

“Agreed. Absolutely agreed,” Rodney said, already tilting his head up for another kiss, while between them, the still-nameless puppy sighed and rested her head, warm and heavy, on Rodney’s chest, the perfect counterpoint.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the quote: "All of the animals except for man know that the principle business of life is to enjoy it."


End file.
